Page 12 of What Is Dark Within Me

“Yes. The heart of the next person to fall in love with you. Shake on it?”

She almost burst into laughter. Aleja may have had the occasional fling, but she’d never been in love, nor had anyone ever professed to be in love with her. You’re too obsessive, Paola had chided. It scares men away.

Nicolas held one of his large hands out and took a step closer. It forced her deeper into the cellar, the rug plush beneath her sneakers. A callus sat on the top knuckle of his index finger and his nails were black. This close, the smell of vanilla and woodsmoke was enough to make her woozy.

“How does this work, exactly?” she asked.

Nicolas raised a thick eyebrow, the amused half-smile still on his mouth.

“What?” she said, “I’m making a bargain. I want to know the terms.”

Again, his eyes lingered on her face before he turned, as if the sight of her made him uncomfortable. “I’m going to give you an ounce of my power. You can keep it until the bargain is fulfilled, in the same way your ancestors kept their power for a hundred years and a day. It forges a connection with me, if that’s what you’re asking. How else would I find those who run when the bill comes due?”

The answer was surprising; Aleja had expected him to evade her again. “Wouldn’t that weaken you—giving away bits of your power like that?”

“I have plenty to spare. Besides, it’s not what everyone desires. You’re a special case.”

“Me?” she said, taken aback. “Because of my family?”

“No. Because you’re chasing after someone who thought their best option was to trap a hellhound. Garm is practically a puppy, but it’s a dangerous business all the same. Something tells me the members of a Satanic social club were the least concerning people your friend associated with.”

“Why are you being so candid with me?”

“I’m the Knowing One. I dispense knowledge.”

“That’s an annoying answer.”

He laughed softly. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’ttrickanyone. I don’t have to. When you decide you know enough, you can choose whether to shake my hand and seal the deal.”

“Is that what you get off on? Watching desperate humans stumble into the traps you help them set up for themselves?”

Careful, said the voice in her head, chiming in after a period of silence.Maybe now isn’t the time to get him riled up.

But Nicolas merely leaned back on the table, crossing his arms. He almost looked pleased by Aleja’s question. “That can be fun, depending on the circumstances, but the answer to your question is more complicated. I make bargains because it is what the Knowing One has always done; the sun rises, the wolves hunt, the ravens eat what’s left of the corpses, and the Knowing One makes deals with humans brave enough to call for him.”

The dog barked again, and Nicolas said, “Now, are we in business or not?”

She hesitated, then took his hand in her own. Aleja wanted to pull back immediately, as if she’d accidentally touched a hot frying pan. But this was the Knowing One. The most dangerous of Otherlanders.

Don’t run. Don’t show fear, said her little voice.

“Okay,” Aleja told him, releasing his hand and trying not to immediately wipe her palm against her jeans. “What’s next? Do you have a clue for me or something?”

His silver eyes bore into hers, and Aleja realized she’d collapsed onto the velour couch without making the decision to. The music was distant now—the last few movements of a somber funeral dirge. She’d expected to feel different. To feel some magic snap into place, but there was only dizziness.

When was the last time she’d eaten? Aleja wondered again. It was before one of her lungs collapsed.

“A clue?” Nicolas chuckled. “I said I’d give youpower, not clues, but I too question why a young witch would seek both a hellhound and an exorcist. Listen. The power will seep into you slowly, not all at once. Your body couldn’t handle it otherwise. Try not to die before then.”

“What?” she asked.

There was no answer, and the click of Garm’s claws against the tiles disappeared. Aleja reached for the Champagne, pleased to learn that the Knowing One hadn’t drained the bottle. The gulp of sugary alcohol brought her back to herself in time to hear a knock at the front door.

She snatched her bag and made for the stairs leading to the backyard, hoping she hadn’t left evidence of her visit aside from the sloppy remains of a charcuterie board on the kitchen floor.

Aleja dashed across the grass. A cleaner’s van was parked in front of Miss Flanders’s home, though she could only see the rear doors as she slipped into her car, hoping the dizziness would be staved off for long enough to let her drive home—or to the nearest fast-food joint.

Stress eating sounded like a very reasonable response to what had just happened.

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